Classic Poem

Brush not away the spiders! Wherefore carp
Because they drape the corners of our rooms?
O spare the little weavers and their warp,
And their mysterious looms!

We search the zones for curious shells and birds,
We bring aquarium fishes to our homes:
Our little weaver as fine thought affords —
And of itself it comes.

Who knows what hints in morals and in arts
Our boasted race have pilfer'd from its threads?
What strength it may have given to stronger hearts?
Wisdom to wiser heads?

It wove resolves amidst a monarch's cares:
He conquer'd for his land an honour'd truce; —
And in the book of fame the spider shares
The glory of the Bruce.

The pretty lawn spread out before its door;
The little hall o'erlooking the domain;
Its very own, drawn from its silken store,
Plann'd by its cunning brain!

Not one instinctive and unvaried form,
But reason'd to the circumstance and place;
With here a stay against the mimic storm,
And there a strengthening brace

What patience, ingenuity, and hope!
Patience to watch, and hope that, soon or late,
Some winged prey, bound with its fairy rope,
Will struggle to its gate.

And can that morsel brain possess indeed
This forethought, and the reason that consults?
Or does the Parent of all wisdom lead
It blindly to results?

What plans within that little rounded door
The exploring eye might find, I'll take on trust;
For should I break the portals to explore,
'Twould fall to ragged dust.

I have no heart for that — would leave our rooms
A life-time to the spider's quaint design:
Ah then, how deftly would they ply their looms,
And what a sight were mine!